She Of The Field

Her stripes will never be white-washed
Her rudbeckia sun
Will never be tilled under
What cheapness have you done?

Your patch of earth, a briar field
Tall thistle lines your way
When beauty comes to ask you
What answer will you say?

Little Light

Ought I bake a cake with this
One I whip up on the fly
A pretty thing to be consumed

Do I don the corduroy
Deep thinking, feigned or actual
With elbows patched so scholarly

Shall I sit alone with this
As ancient wisdom would advise
Perhaps eternally, but seek

Or will I simply walk with you
In sweet-smart cameraderie
Joining hands from East to West

At The Door

You’re going to guide you to truth

Step now into the absolute 
With open eyes 
Fling far your wishbone
For what virtue
Demands you
Walk blind in the grey

Stutter-step and stiff-arm
Nay-say all you need
Wrestle with doubt and despair 
But befriend and deal kindly with time
There’s a lifespan to learn
And eternity to spend